


Busman's Holiday

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Erotic, Gay Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Monsters, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: The second story in my Torchwood world, this tale picks up a month after "Genetica" and our reluctant Captain is now being held to his vow of a getaway weekend with his attractive factotum. The chapters in this story are roughly 1000 to 2000 words although a few do run over. This story takes place before CoE. There may be some small liberties taken from time to time with references to the show and its timelines. Since I am a writer of gay romance, these Torchwood tales will be character driven with great attention to Jack and Ianto's relationship. That said, there will also be some alien action to keep the guys busy when they're out of bed. I hope you enjoy my take on this amazing world and these two incredible men.





	1. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 1 - New Tricks and Old Worries

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue One**

**New Tricks and Old Worries**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

The outer office was void of its Ianto. I strolled past the tourist information desk, around a few racks with brochures and key-chains and went outside, hands in my pockets, the very picture of non-committed ease. Owen stood on the edge of the dock, the end of a rope in one hand and a familiar stopwatch in the other. I made my way over the medic and gave the rope he was holding a quick look. His dark eyes lifted from the stopwatch to me.

“What’s his time today?” I enquired, bending at the waist to peer into the depths of Cardiff Bay. A seagull overhead cried out.

“Fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

“Quite the handy trick,” I tossed out, working to look uncaring while internally I was railing at the man at the bottom of the bay to surface. The urge to dive in and pull his fine ass to the dock was strong, but we needed to know what Ianto could do. A month after his near conversion into something alien, we knew only one thing: that Ianto Jones could now stay submerged in water for ungodly amounts of time and not drown. How? Well, that was what had Owen so stumped. Since the man had not sprouted gills – although perhaps he had just in a place I hadn’t seen since sex had not been allowed for over four weeks – how his body could do this was still a mystery. One that Owen was determined to unravel. “Bring him up. We have reservations for this weekend.”

“Oh, right, the romantic getaway.” I heard the taunt in his voice. I thought about shoving the snide bastard off the pier but opted to be the bigger man. “I’ll just give him a tug then, unless you’d like to? Tug him a bit, that is?”

Owen wore his smirk with practiced perfection. “I’ll tug him later. For now, get him up here so we can leave. It takes over four and a half hours to drive to the B&B he picked out.”

Owen gave the rope a smart pull. Nothing spells Torchwood like high tech experimental and medical devices such as a rope.

“Where the hell did he choose to go?”

I stared up at a large white cloud out over the blue-green water. “Up in Holyhead. There’s this B&B that’s touted as the premiere rest for bird-watching at the local wetlands.” I heard the snort escape him. A sour look did little to stop our medic’s sniggers. I pointed at him. “Don’t say a word.”

“Well, if he wanted to get you as far away from Cardiff as possible, he chose a bloody good spot.”

“Tell me about it.” I crouched down when I saw our factotum’s head breaking the surface. He blinked water out of his eyes and gave me a wet smile. It was hard to be shitty about the upcoming two days watching gadwalls and grebes when he looked so damn happy. The time spent out on the wetlands wasn’t the real issue, it was the knowledge that sometime over this weekend of listening for warblers among the reeds and fucking ourselves into delirium, I’d be expected to talk. About us. I’d rather face down Dalek’s then converse about couples, relationships, and emotions. Fucking? Yep, I can talk about – and do that - all the live long day. How I feel about the man I’m fucking? That’s not so much a Jack Harkness thing.

“The amount of refuse down there is appalling,” Ianto said after we had him back on the dock and wrapped in a black Torchwood blanket. “We should set up some sort of event here to curb polluting the bay.”

Owen tossed me a look that I chose to ignore. Smug bastard. “We’ll hand that suggestion off to the head of public relations and charity events.” Ianto stopped rubbing his head with a corner of the blanket to quirk an expressive eyebrow at me. “What?”

He stalked off in front of me, the blanket draped over his shoulders. His sodden swim trunks clung to his ass. It was a marvelous sight that made me half hard.

“So, now that I’ve tweaked _him_ already, I’m going to relay the news that you’re in charge while I’m gone.” The self-satisfied sneer on Owen’s face disappeared. He opened his mouth to argue. I, once again, pointed a finger at him. “No, no arguments. You’re on call.”

“But I had plans this weekend,” he countered as he coiled up wet rope.

“You haven’t nicked the particle perfume again, have you?” I asked, my gaze on Ianto standing inside the tourist info office drying off his long, powerful legs. Damn. I needed some of that. Soon. Thinking about work was getting harder. As was something else. I turned from Owen, readjusted my stiff dick, and then walked off leaving the good doctor sputtering.

“I have about an hour or so of work to tie up then we can go,” I told Ianto as I walked into the old visitor’s center. “Go home and pack.”

“Already done, Sir.” He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, covering up all that slick, wet skin. Dammit.

“Then gather up some of _my_ stuff and pack it,” I said. He nodded, his smile shy and sensual all at once. I snapped the blanket off his back and draped it over me. “Make sure you bring plenty of lube. We’re going to need it,” I tacked on before pulling the damp covering tightly around me. Erection nicely hidden I made my way to my office to sit at my desk and wallow a bit. Have I mentioned that I do that on occasion?

 

**To be continued…**

 


	2. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 2 - He Who Wheedles Loses

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Two**

**He Who Wheedles Loses**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Packing for Jack was relatively easy. He tended to wear the same sort of outfit day in and day out. Laying a pair of clean shirts into a valise for him, I hummed along to “My Sharona” by the Knack playing on my phone. I felt lighter today than I had for months. The past four weeks had been terribly difficult. No one was quite sure of what it was I could do or why. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I knew _what_ I was anymore. Personally, I felt being able to gather garbage on the bottom of Cardiff Bay for long stretches of time was demoralizing and not just a little horrifying. The others claimed it was a special gift. I saw nothing special about being some sort of alien freak.

Point five percent. That was the amount of alien genetica left in my DNA per Owen’s calculations. Not much but obviously enough to cause major changes. I shook off the melancholy and worry and set about gathering up some of his undergarments, his shaving kit and some cologne. Then I added them to his bag, taking care to arrange things neatly. This weekend would be good for him and me, I could feel it. Perhaps if we just had some time alone I could chip a hole in that miserable wall around his heart.

I folded some dark trousers then placed them atop Jack’s shirts and spare set of suspenders, the upbeat tune making me move to the beat just a bit. I loved dancing. It’d been ages since I’d been. Maybe someday I’d lure Jack into a slow dance somewhere. Gwen’s wedding perhaps.

“I’d forgotten how good you look in jeans,” Jack said from behind me. I held up a light blue sweater of his, keeping my back to him to allow him to enjoy the view.

“A suit and tie seemed a bit over the top for a getaway weekend,” I commented lightly as he walked to me, the floorboards of my renovated flat creaking under his weight. Not that I needed the floor to tell me Jack was in the immediate vicinity. My body knew when he was near. And it always reacted with a surge of raw desire and other deeper things that I was not going to dwell on at the moment. There would be time for those deep things later.

“You were in jeans the first time we met,” he said as his arms slipped around my waist. He placed a kiss to the nape of my neck, his hands going up under the casual cotton shirt and vest combo I had pulled on. His hot palms roamed over my stomach as his teeth nipped at my neck.

“I’m surprised that you remember the first time we met,” I tossed out. Concentrating on folding his sweater was getting tricky. His fingers went under the waistband of my jeans and I sucked in a sharp breath.

“I remember _everything_ about you Ianto Jones,” Jack growled beside my ear. “Let’s chuck this bird-watching excursion and just crawl into bed. Why waste five hours behind the wheel when we can spend that same amount of time under the covers.” His fingers delved into my briefs as he pushed his hard cock into my ass.

“No.” I shouldered away from him and his questing hands. He exhaled dramatically as I tossed his sweater into his bag. I turned around to face him. He was not amused. That sensual mouth of his looked like a paper cut. “You are not going to wheedle me into giving this weekend up.”

“I’m a damn fine wheedler.” He waggled a dark brown eyebrow. I gave him a stony look. His eyes rolled to the ceiling. Ugh, I seriously _hated_ it when he did that. “Okay, fine, it was just a suggestion. You can stop giving me your Sister Serious glower.”

“You might just discover you enjoy yourself, Jack,” I said then returned to his bag, tidying the rumpled sweater, and then zipping it slowly to not wrinkle his clothing. When I turned back to him and handed him the strap of his bag, our gazes met. He was quick to shutter the fear and slap up that cocky conman persona he wears so well. “I have a rental parked right by the door in case you tried to argue that us taking the SUV up to Holyhead would leave the team without transportation if they needed it.”

“You’re a clever and well-prepared man, Ianto Jones.”

“I’m getting to know you quite well, Jack Harkness.” I dropped the strap onto his wide shoulder and jerked my head in the direction of the bedroom door. “And yes, there are condoms and lube in our bags. Now go. I’ll lock up and be right out.”

“Next time I’m hiring an ugly and incompetent office boy,” I heard him mumbling as he stalked off to throw his bag into the rental. I wore a smile as I shut all the windows and closed my flat for the weekend.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	3. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 3 - Eyes on the Road

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Chapter Three**

**Eyes on the Road**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Even if I were threatened with being forced to breath nothing but Slitheen “gas exchanges” for the rest of my unnaturally long life, I would never admit this to anyone but driving through Wales with Ianto was not the single worst experience I’d ever had. It certainly ranked much higher than being eliminated by the Supreme Dalek or being shot in the head by a fellow Torchwood agent.

The rental car was nothing special, a dull gray sedan with terrible suspension, but it had a decent stereo which Ianto and I were making use of. When we weren’t belting out pop from the 70’s and 80’s we were talking. One of several things I especially enjoyed doing with Ianto Jones. He was intelligent, witty, and tended to laugh at all my jokes. Okay, most of my jokes. Some of my jokes. A few of my better jokes. The man was good for my ego. Now if I could just get him out of this car and into a bed. I glanced to my left again. He was studying something on a tablet.

“You know,” he said as “My Eyes Adored You”, a mid-seventies ballad from Frankie Valli, played on the radio, “if we had had more time, we could have stopped by Caernarfon Castle.” The wind moved through his hair like a lover’s fingers. Suddenly I was envious of the wind. _Someone needs to get laid to quell the poetic waxing_. “The travel adverts all say it’s quite fascinating. Oh, here’s a bit of interesting fact. The first fortifications there were built by the Romans which they named _Segontium._ The site was called " _y gaer yn Arfon_ " which means “the stronghold in the land over against Môn”. He looked up to find me staring at his profile. “Môn is the Welsh name for Anglesey.”

“There’s those beautiful Welsh vowels I love so much,” I replied since to simply sit here staring at him would raise questions that I wasn’t comfortable answering now. Or ever. It might also get us wrapped around a tree. A soft smile settled on his lips and he went back to reading me information about this castle.

“Sounds like a fascinating stop. Quite rich in history,” he said after finally laying down his tablet.

“Maybe we can visit next time,” I answered without thinking. His voice, the feel of the country air, and the steady roll of the tires had lulled me into a serene mood set.

“Oh? So, there may be a next time?”

As soon as I heard the expectation in his voice, I winced internally. “Anything’s possible but it’s unlikely,” I threw out to deflect. “We _are_ Torchwood. The empire relies on us to be there when we’re needed.”

“Of course, Sir. Silly of me to expect otherwise.”

 I despised how he could use the word “Sir” like a well-honed knife. We rode along for a good forty minutes in a stilted silence. He would point out something he thought might be of interest. I would nod and smile or comment. The mood in the sedan had changed and I felt guilty about being the reason but the man had to realize where we stood. Romantic fantasies had no place in our world. Still, the hurt I had caused him by being so gruff wasn’t pleasant. I just caught the opening notes of a familiar song, and hoping to bring the joy back to his blue eyes, I cranked up the radio and gave him sly wink. He tried to look stern but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Why do I always have to be Kiki?” Ianto enquired as we sailed down another back road about sixty minutes from our destination. The wetlands were evident along both sides of the thin country lane.

“You can hit the high notes,” I teased which got me that exasperated look he wears so well. Despite his grumbling, he always, and I mean _always_ , fell right into the musical role of Kiki Dee while I sang Sir Elton’s part in “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” as loud as we could. Halfway through the song I looked over. He was singing along while enjoying the scenery. I couldn’t help but think that nothing outside that window could compare to the man seated next to me. I placed my hand on his thigh and squeezed, my gaze on his mouth.

“ _Jack, the road!"_  Ianto shouted.

My sight flew from Ianto to the muddy road we were cruising along. A young boy stood in the middle of the dirt lane. I cranked the wheel as hard as I could to the right while mashing down on the brakes. The car careened into a ditch, the airbags exploding in our faces as the sedan flipped over twice then somehow landed on its wheels. The interior of the car was filled with white dust that made me cough uncontrollably. The sunglasses I had been wearing were dangling off my ears, snapped cleanly along the bridge of my nose. The bag deflated quickly. Ianto groaned. I glanced over and saw blood. Lots and lots of blood and all of it was Ianto’s.

 

**To be continued...**


	4. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 4 - Oh Where, Oh Where Can He Be?

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Four**

**Oh Where, Oh Where Can He Be?**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“Ianto, speak to me!”

Funny how the only time I ever heard true emotion in Jack’s voice was when he was in the middle of an orgasm or I was suffering injury or close to death. Actually, that wasn’t funny at all.

“I’m fine, fine,” I coughed, my lungs filling with white dust and my nose bleeding like a stuck pig. Where did I ever hear _that_ saying? “Air bag got me in the face. Bloody ‘ell,” I gagged and sputtered, blood spewing over the new shirt and vest combo I had bought for this trip.

“Tip your head back,” Jack said, reaching for my chin. I swatted his hand away.

“They now say to apply pressure,” I barked and pinched my nostrils closed. “Go make sure the child is okay.” He hesitated. “Go. I’m fine, just shaken.”

“Yes, the child.” Jack unbuckled his seat belt and kicked the driver’s side door open. The crumpled hinges squealed.

“I’ll never get the deposit back now,” I groaned, fiddling to free the seat belt latch with my left hand while trying to staunch the flow of blood from my nose with my right. It was awkward but I got the latch popped and rolled out of the rental. “Roll” being the operative word because the passenger door was hanging on by one hinge. The car looked to be totaled.

I scanned the immediate area. Jack was kneeling in the middle of the road, his brown hair dusted white as was his gray-blue RAF greatcoat. I’d have to run a damp cloth over it to tidy it up for him later. I jogged over to them. Jack looked up. Bright red droplets of my blood speckled the front and lapel of his coat. Looked like it would take more than a damp cloth to clean that mess. “Is he uninjured?” I ask, nose pinched, and throat coated with powder and thickening blood.

“Have you seen my dog? He’s been gone since last night,” the redheaded lad asked. Jack stood up, his hand resting on the thin boy’s shoulder.

“He was looking for his dog,” Jack explained. Perhaps he thought the airbag punch to the face had impaired my hearing in some manner. “I told him we haven’t seen any dogs.”

“No, no we haven’t,” I said, tentatively releasing the hold on my nose. A small stream of blood leaked out. I dashed it away with my hand. Bird call filled the air, as did the smell of old bog, decaying flesh, and rotted shit. Not your typical wetlands smell by any means. Even with my nose filled with clotting blood the stench was strong and unsettling to the stomach. “What does your dog look like?” I enquired of the boy.

“Gray and white, little he is.” Tears ran down the boy’s face. I felt terrible for him. “He can’t be gone. I need to find him before dark.”

With that pronouncement, the boy wrenched free of Jack and ran on a direct intercept course with the wetlands on my right. Jack and I both yelled at him to stop. The child paid no mind and bulled off into the reeds, shouting for Chipper. I swiped at the trickle of blood on my upper lip and ran after the boy, Jack following directly behind me. Birds took to wing when I hit the tall reeds. The songs and chirps of wildlife stilled when I slid down a muddy slope into brackish water to my hips.

“Ianto! Where the hell did you go?” Jack bellowed as I wind-milled my arms to keep my balance. “ _Ianto!_ ”

“Don’t come out! The bank drops off sharply,” I shouted, working to lift my right leg. The thick muck on the bottom of the bog held me tight. “Fuck,” I snarled then threw my weight to the left in the hopes of breaking free. All that did was make me sink a few inches deeper. Air bubbles rose to the surface as I struggled. The stench made me gag. “Jack, I’m sinking. Maybe a hand would be nice.”

“You told me not to come any further,” he barked, voice tense.

“I’ve changed my mind!”

I heard the reeds shifting behind me then felt Jack’s fingertips brush mine. “Give me your hands. I’ll pull you out.”

Arms over my head, I clasped Jack’s thick wrists. He pulled. The muck held me tight.

“My _God_ , what is that smell?” Jack asked while yanking valiantly.

“Pull harder!”

“That’s…what…he…said,” Jack ground out as he jerked with all he had. My left foot slipped out of my new leather walking boot. Jack must have felt the give for he snarled something about this not being the kind of tugging he had mentioned to Owen and then wrenched on my arms with such strength I feared he would pop my arms out of their sockets. My right leg came free with a wet slurping sound. My back hit the bank, and the man who had gone to his ass, with a thud.

“Gods, that smell,” I coughed and scrabbled to get up the bank and over Jack, who simply laid there and let me crawl over him. When we were face to face, he gave me a quick wink then began gagging at the aroma of sewage – or whatever the stink was – rolling off me in steaming waves. I scurried over him and fell on the ground, panting like an overworked ox.

“You reek,” Jack thought to point out. As if I didn’t know. Sometimes I wanted to slap him and not in the fun across-the-bare-bum way that he rather liked.

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Sir.” I slowly got to my feet. Jack made a choked sound that could have been irritation and stood up, his hand over the lower half of his face. “We have to get to the nearest town and raise a search party. If that boy got out into that muck, he’ll never be able to free himself.”

“Right.” He lifted his left arm, flipped open the vortex manipulator on his wrist, and pulled up a glowing blue map of the area. “Looks like the closest town is a mile west.” We both turned to look in that direction for some unknown reason. My underwear was wet and sticking to my balls. It was not a pleasant sensation. “Tiny little hamlet known as Wolcott on the Bog.” His bright blue gaze lifted and met mine. “Charming moniker.”

“Fits I wager.”

Jack stepped up close and ran the back of his fingers along my cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Same,” I whispered so only the grebes could hear.

“Let’s go see if the rental will roll over,” he said. I winced. “Sorry, bad choice of words. Let’s go see if the rental will start.”

I gave the foul-smelling wetlands a worried look then hustled to the car as fast as a man with one hiking boot can hustle.

 

**To be continued…**

 

 


	5. Busman's Holiday - Torchwood Chapter 5 - Walcott on the Bog

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Five**

**Walcott on the Bog**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

I wasn’t sure which stunk the worst. The unwashed man who owned the only tow truck in a fifty-mile radius and was eating yet _another_ sardine sandwich, or Ianto. Truly, it was a toss-up as to which smell would make me vomit first. I should have let Ianto sit in the middle so I could have all that fresh air blowing in the window, but I didn’t like the way the obese man with sardine breath had ogled my support man. That goes to show how appealing Mr. Jones really is. Even when he smells like a sewer, other men are drawn to him.

Maybe it was his confusing and appealing mix of innocence and burgeoning self-confidence in who and what he was. Watching and helping him grow into the man he was meant to be was making me all kinds of stiff and stupid, so it stood to reason other men would be hot for him as well, the rutting boars. 

We rolled through a wall of fog to enter Wolcott on the Bog. Ianto mumbled something about _Silent Hill_. The town itself was what some would consider picturesque if living in the middle of a bog in a rundown house was your idea of charming. There were perhaps twenty ramshackle homes. Smoke-colored paint made the houses look cancerous. The driver of the tow truck hustled us out of the cab, unhooked the rental in the middle of the only road that ran through Wolcott on the Bog, and demanded a hundred pounds from Ianto.

“Are you out of your mind?” Mr. Jones asked of the fishy man eying my office boy as if he were the next sardine sandwich he hoped to ingest.

 “Just pay the man. You’ll be paid back out of petty cash,” I said, my gaze roaming over the houses with their darkened windows. An eerie air settled over us. Ianto pulled the bills out of his sodden wallet while mumbling under his breath. Off the driver went without another word, leaving us with a useless car, our bags, and no clue as to how to proceed.

“So, what next?” Ianto asked stepping up beside me. “Everything looks skeletal here, as if life is afraid happen.”

I caught the movement of a curtain in one of the dead houses. “Next we go find someone who can help us search the bog for that little boy. And we call base for backup.”

“No, we’re not calling base.” I rolled my head in his direction and pinned him with a “When Did I Die and Leave You in Charge?” look. As usual, the glower made him glance away for just a second. Then he picked up his chin and glowered right back. “If they come out we’ll never get our time alone. We can handle this, Jack. It’s just a search-and-rescue for a child.”

“And Chipper,” I added.

 “Yes, and Chipper.”

I looked away from him, and those sapphire eyes that weakened me so. “Okay, we leave the office out of this. For now.” I stalked off. Ianto caught up a moment later, the back of his hand brushed mine. I took the gesture as his way of saying thanks without saying thanks. We walked up to the nearest house, the one with the shifting sheers in the window, and I hammered on the door. “Anyone in here related to a little redheaded lad and a dog named Chipper?” I shouted. Ianto leaned against the home to pull off and drain his one remaining hiking boot. No reply. I shouted louder, asking if anyone had lost a little boy and his dog once again.

“Maybe this town really _is_ dead,” Ianto said after several silent moments ticked past and we turned to leave. “Happens quite often when there’s no industry left to support some of these old hamlets.”

I was about to reply when a raspy squeal ripped through the fog and wood smoke hanging in our faces. We whirled around to find the door I had beaten on creaking open. A woman, as withered and old as the exterior of the house she lived in, peered out at us. She was bowed and appeared to be blind, her eyes and hair both shockingly white.

“You’ll not find the lad or the dog. The _Llamhigyn Y Dwr_ has taken them all but me. Livestock, pets, young and old, all gone. They come in the dark, steal everything away. All’s gone but me.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but did you say everyone in this town has been taken by water leapers?” Ianto enquired of the old crone. She spat on her fingers, rubbed them onto the doorframe, and then slammed the door in our faces. My clothes felt heavy and wet on my back. I looked questioningly at Ianto.

“Can someone fill the American in? What’s a water leaper?”

“I thought they were just myths, monsters made up to scare children,” he replied as his gaze darted over the muddy lane, our totaled rental, and the fog that seemed to grow thicker by the second. I cleared my throat. His attention knifed back to me. “Sorry, I drifted a bit. They’re carnivorous frog-like, batty-lizard creatures that live in ponds, lakes, and marshes."

“Okay, that sounds like something that falls under our job description. Do your Welsh legends say how to kill them?” I asked and got nothing but a headshake from my lover and an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Good. Okay. Well, slogging through the wetlands in search of winged flesh-eating frogs had to be better than purging my emotions. “Let’s commandeer one of these houses, get into dry and less offensive clothes,” the look I gave Ianto was pointed, “and work out how we plan to search countless acres of wetlands with just two men.”

“Two men with guns, experience in paranormal situations, and lots of determination,” he stated before walking off into the fog.

“Calling the team up to help would make more sense,” I yelled into the mist.

"No calling home, Jack. We’ll manage. Besides, there’s no cell service. I already checked.”

 “Damn man is like a terrier when he gets his teeth into something,” I grumbled and followed the sound of my man Friday’s squelching footstep into the chilly haze. The house we decided to billet in was perhaps a step up from bunking in one of the holding cells under the Hub. There were no Weevil noises to deal with, but the dour atmosphere and damp conditions were the similar. It was unsettling to move around the home, seeing signs of the owners scattered about, and knowing that they were now in the bellies of some Welsh monsters.

We had secured the first floor and were headed to the stairs leading to a second floor when a sharp rap on the front door had us both drawing our weapons.

“Who is it?” I shouted, sights on the weak door.

“Enid from down the lane.”

I glanced at Ianto and saw him exhale. Guns back in their holsters I went to the door and pulled it open. There on the rickety front porch stood the old woman from three houses down. She held a platter with a thin cotton towel draped over it and a cane hung over her thin arm.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked. She shook the wild shock of white hair and shoved the plate at me.

“I’m not one to wander. Been safe in my place weeks now. Where you boys from?”

“Cardiff,” Ianto supplied as he stepped up and took the plate. “We were headed to Holyhead for the weekend.”

“Are you two queer? You smell queer.”

“Why do people keep saying that to me?!” Ianto barked, his face mottling with embarrassment.

I threw back my head and laughed. “She’s not completely wrong.” Ianto rolled his eyes. “Tell me, Enid, are you really the last one here?”

“Aye, that I am. And I plan to stay here no matter what. What are you two, beside gay?” Her wild white eyebrows beetled as she tried to figure us out. “Police, I wager. Military maybe? You.” She poked me in the chest with the end of her cane. “You got the feel of a man in charge. That one,” she waved her cane at Ianto, “he’s your boy, aye?”

“Yes, he’s my boy,” I replied. She nodded and lowered her cane.

“You two need to stay away from the bog. That boy, Toby, is gone, dead. He’ll not ever come back. The bog, it’ll swallow you up just like it did the others. They’ll come tonight, they come every night. Keep them here, away from the water and you two might stand a chance. If they get you into the wetlands, you’ll be dead.”

With that she turned and shuffled off, her cane tapping along in front of her until the fog enveloped her. I shut the door. Ianto pulled the towel off the platter then smiled smugly.

“Looks like you’ll be trying laverbread and cockles after all.”

I gave the mound of dark green seaweed topped with slimy little snot balls a disgusted look. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot dog at Yankee Stadium right about now. You’re enjoying this far too much,” I said as my stomach roared in hunger.

“Well, at least we’ll have the promised Welsh delicacies,” Ianto commented as he walked off to the kitchen.

“I’m more than willing to live up to the making love part of the deal,” I announced and got a derisive snort in reply. Oh, he should know better than to snort at me. Now I’d just have to show him that Jack Harkness was a man of his word.

 

 

**To be continued…**


	6. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 6 - Droplets

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Six**

**Droplets**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 “Jack,” I called as we scaled creaking steps to the second floor in search of a bathtub, the cockles and laverbread long gone, “do you think we’re really looking at a water leaper infestation?”

He paused on the riser and looked down at me as I came up the final stair. “Anything’s possible, Ianto. Most myths are based in fact. Fairies, goblins, sea monsters living in lochs. They’re all rooted in the worlds that exist on the fringes of ours.”

I nodded and slipped around him, my sight locked on a bathroom just off to the right. The room was large and smelled musty. The lone window was smeared and dirty, the curtains pulled wide to allow what meager light there was to eke through the grime on the glass. Stained wallpaper covered the walls. The bathtub looked gritty.

“I’m honestly not sure I can sit down in that,” I announced. Jack strolled up to stand beside me.

“Meh, I’ve sat in worse,” he said, bent down, and then turned on both taps. Cloudy water thundered out of the spigot. He ran a hand around the sides of the tub in a small effort to clean it, or so I assumed. Jack then shucked his coat off his shoulders and pulled his suspenders down one arm then the other. I stood rooted to the spot by the tub, wondering what in hell the man was doing. “You planning on taking off your clothes, or are you going to bathe while fully dressed?”

“You’re not thinking of sharing a bath with me, are you?” I let the strap of my overnight bag slither off my shoulder. He smiled. His dimples appeared igniting a fire inside of me.

“I’m doing more than thinking about it, Ianto.” His shirt and undershirt hit the floor. My gaze drifted down to touch on his bare chest.

“But we have monsters to get ready for.” I flapped my hand in the general direction of out there in the world. “And um, monsters…”

“Ianto Jones, you’re not blushing, are you?” He unzipped his grimy trousers.

“No,” I lied. He chuckled and stepped out of his pants and briefs. “Hand me my bag,” he directed, and I did. What else could I do? I was out of my league. He crammed a hand into the neatly folded clothes and extracted a tube of lube. My stomach lurched and my cock stiffened instantly. With a snap of his wrist, the bag thudded to the floor.

“Why don’t you get out of those rancid clothes and join me?” Sin bubbled in his blue eyes. “I’ll wash your back and you can wash mine.”

I stole a peek at his body and that was all it took. He was as hard as I was. Sight on him as he climbed into the tub and sat down, I pulled off my shirt and pants, nearly toppling headfirst into the tub in my rush to get out of my underwear. When I was naked Jack’s gaze met and held mine. He flipped the lid on the lube. A tremor ran through me.

“You look terrified,” he softly said. My gaze dropped to watch him smear lube over his prick. I quickly looked back up.

“I’ve not done this before.” He shot me an arched eyebrow. “I mean… not this - like this…in this position in a tub.”

“First time for everything.” He tossed the lube to the floor. “Whenever you’re ready, Ianto.”

“I’m not sure…” Shit. I hated sounding like an idiot. “I mean I know what goes where but…”

“Come on. We’ll figure it out.” He held a hand up to me. “Trust me.”

“I do, implicitly.” I stepped into the tub, his fingers tight on mine. Down to my knees I went, Jack’s hands on my ribs, his mouth slightly open and his eyes hooded.

“Up just a bit,” he softly encouraged. I complied. His hands slipped around my lower back, cupping my ass, and lifting me up from his thighs. “Kiss me.” I leaned into him, dropping my head, and placing my mouth over his. His tongue darted into my mouth. The head of his cock slipped into me. I tensed. “Relax, Ianto. I have you,” he whispered into my mouth. I closed my eyes and he entered me fully. I grimaced at the slight burn. He flexed his hips. A sound came out of me that was unlike any sound I had ever made before. “Deep, isn’t it?” Jack purred as my body stretched to accommodate him.

“I can’t breathe,” I gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders.

“Reach back, turn the water on." I twisted and found the taps. Water pounded into the tub. Jack fumbled with the plug. As the water rose, movement became easier. We let the level rise to the top before I turned off the flow. Droplets of water dotted his neck. I wanted to lap them up and keep the taste of them on my tongue forever. “Now, ride me, Ianto, and do _not_ stop for anything.”

Knees pressed into the side of the tub, crouching like a catcher in American baseball, I began to move up and down. Water slipped over the side of the tub. Jack groaned long and low and I lost my mind. I rode him with more speed. Water slapped at our sides and sloshed over and out of the tub. Jack murmured and moaned, his voice raspy with lust. When he came sometime later it was with a shout that bounced off the old walls. I followed quickly, his grip on my cock tight and practiced.

“Holy hell,” Jack huffed as our bodies shook. I let my eyes drift shut, absorbed in the pleasure of my release and the feel of Jack’s cock pulsing deep inside me. “You okay?”

“Fine, yes, wonderfully fine.” I replied, my eyes drifting open. Jack clapped a wet hand to the back of my neck and pulled my mouth to his. Kissing him was my life, or at least at that moment, it felt that way. He lifted me off him as our tongues tangled. I sat down hard, my thigh and calf muscles protesting the position I had been in for so long.

“I told you we’d figure it out,” he said teasingly between kisses. I snickered a bit then sat back on his legs.

“We truly need to drain this water and start over,” I commented. Seems he found that funny.

“You’re such a tidy Welshman,” he said then patted my ass and motioned for me to leave the tub.

I stepped out of the bath, my legs still a little wobbly. I grabbed an old towel from a rack bolted to the wall, and began to dry off, taking care to turn and dab between my legs.

“So, we’re not using condoms anymore?” I asked the man lounging in the tub. I glanced over my shoulder as I wiped away the traces of Jack’s semen. He cracked open an eye. I let the towel fall to the floor.

“Why should we? My metabolism is too advanced to allow me to catch any illnesses that are creeping around now. You can’t give me anything and I can’t give you anything. Why shouldn’t we enjoy sex to its fullest?”

“Oh, right, of course. That’s perfectly reasonable. I thought it was some other reason.” I _really_ needed to stop reading things into his actions. It made sense that he was probably immune to any of our diseases. Lord knows what his immortality added to the mix. “I did see you toss aside a burger once.”

“Who wants to eat _anything_ where hepatitis is floating around?” He stared up at me, water lapping gently against his broad chest. “Are you upset? I mean, we only used them because you insisted at first, which is a good thing,” he quickly stuck on when I continued to stare at him openly. “And when you’re with any other man but me you’ll need to be diligent about using them, but with us, there’s no need.”

“There’ll be no other man,” I flatly told him. He gaped at me as if I had sprouted a few extra heads. “Now can we drain that water and start anew? We have about an hour before dark and we need to prepare.”

“You’re mad.” He pulled the plug on the tub. The water going down the drain made an occasional slurping sound.

“No, I am not mad. And now is not the time to discuss this. We’ll talk later.”

He looked like he wanted to say more but he chose to clamp his jaw shut. That was probably wise. I felt, yet again, like a blathering teenager caught in the throes of his first romance. Monsters took precedence, that was the Torchwood creed. For once, I was glad to have that sentiment to fall back on.

 

**To Be Continued…**

 


	7. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 7 - 1,473

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Seven**

**1,473**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

_“There’ll be no other man.”_

His words ran inside my head on a loop. Even as we readied ourselves to face down Welsh frog-bat creatures, the finality of his statement wouldn’t go away. I had always assumed that he would move on once he discovered what a heartless prick I could be. Maybe not soon. Probably not soon knowing Ianto. He’d stick it out for as long as he could. Maybe in ten years he would grow weary of loving a man who refused to love him back. He’d begin to distance himself as he sought out a more loving, tender man.

I’d let him go and mourn my loss for eternity. Then, when he was old and his husband or wife were dead, I’d drop by weekly to hold his age-spotted hand and tell him that he would always be the one that I had loved above all others. Then I would bury him and leave another chunk of my heart behind. And so it goes for Jack Harkness. The perpetual agony of immortality. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, kids.

“You’re wallowing again, Jack,” I grumbled to myself as we cleaned and readied our guns.

“Were you talking to me?” Ianto asked. I looked in his direction and shook my head. His tired eyes met mine. He returned to polishing his M1911 and I returned to lamenting my situation but doing nothing to change it. Maybe if I just admitted that I loved the damn man, I’d spend less time wondering why I didn’t just tell the man. But if I tell him, and I lose him... See, this is the kind of internal dialog that needed to end. It was going to get me killed. Again. “Sunset will occur in fifteen minutes.”

 “And we’ll be ready.” I stood up from the kitchen table that still held the last meal of the villagers that had lived here. Several fat flies buzzed around the moldy fare. Ianto glanced up from his gun, his expression guarded. I shoved my gun into its holster and lifted my soiled coat from the back of the chair. There would be no saving this one despite Ianto’s best efforts with a thick baking soda paste and a child’s toothbrush. The image of that tiny pink toothbrush in Ianto’s hand will haunt me for a long, long time.

 “Here, let me help you.” Ianto rose and hurried over, taking the coat from me and holding it up. Our gazes touched.

 “Don’t let the monsters get you.” He nodded. I stole a hard, quick kiss and then turned to allow him to help me into my coat.  I shot him an over-the-shoulder look. “You look damn fine in denim, Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Sir. You cut a fine figure yourself.”

“Shall we?” I waved a hand at the door.

 “Yes, lets.”

 And with that, we left the empty house and entered the fog. It hung low to the ground and cut visibility down to virtually nothing. We moved through the mist slowly, careful where we put our feet. The ground was soft, spongy, filled with moisture from the perpetual fog and water lying under the soil. We crept to Enid’s house, positioning ourselves on either side of the home, our commlinks in our pockets since there was no wireless or cell service.

 I rested against the sooty siding, listening, scanning, reaching out with all my senses. A soft rustle of wind, the scratch of a limb against cedar shingles, a creak of a loose rain gutter. Each sound was amplified inside my mind. A tiny square of light from inside Enid’s house disappeared and the night swallowed me. Mist settled on my face and hair. My eyes methodically scanned the fog creeping up to the house. My pulse throbbed in my ears. Somewhere around the back, Ianto was waiting just as I was. It was a sound never heard before that announced something had arrived with the fog. The shuffle of wings, a short slick sound of a tongue tasting the air. I lifted my beloved Wembly revolver, braced my legs under me, and flipped off the manual safety with my thumb.

I wet my lips, tasted the rankness of the muck on my tongue, and then pivoted to the left when the fog split and a huge winged beast flew at me. One shot went wide. The second hit moist flesh. The leaper crashed into the siding with a thud, falling beside me, its long tail flailing wildly. The creature screamed so loudly I nearly passed out. Ianto popped off two shots in rapid succession. I fired at the leaper at my feet. It rolled and flipped, its wings slapping my boot. The tail whipped up into the air, hit me in the thigh, and ripped through my pants tearing open the flesh underneath. White hot fire erupted at the site of the wound and then spread outward, rushing through my body so quickly I barely had time to shout for help. I fell to one knee. The tail lashed in a final death throe. It skimmed my cheek and I felt what must be barbs catching in the flesh under my eye.

“Shit, Ianto,” I coughed feeling the poison dimming my reflexes. The dead leaper stopped flopping. I fell to my face, my numbing cheek coming to rest in a puddle of hot blood. Was it mine or the monsters? I lay there, my hearing and vision dimming to nearly nothing, then felt the clamp of a mouth around my wrist. Scores of sharp teeth bit to the bone. I was too anesthetized by the venom to make a sound. The leaper began tugging me from the house, its teeth grating on the bone as it tugged violently. The fog swallowed us. I lay on my back, the sounds of gun fire and Ianto yelling my name disappearing as I slid not only into the bog but into the dark, cold arms of death number one thousand, four hundred, and seventy-three. Or was it seventy-four?  I tended to lose count.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	8. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 8 - Grade A Prime Harkness

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Eight**

**Grade A Prime Harkness**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

            “As if they weren’t bad enough when they were just legends,” I muttered then ducked back into the small, enclosed rear porch to avoid a fly-by. A tiny yellow light bulb threw just enough light out onto the springy yard to illuminate the ugly bastards. They looked nothing like the creatures in the book that Rhiannon and I had owned as children. These were worse. Perhaps because they were live and not fanciful color renditions. A barbed tail dragged over the tin roofing on the porch. I wasn’t sure how they located their prey. I suspected it was some sort of echo-location because their screeches were close to being auditory torture.

            One dropped down in front of the doorway. It lumbered at me, eyes flashing luminescent green in the night. It moved like a bat on the ground, awkward but steady, using two long claws where it’s wings bent at the elbow, or what one would call an elbow. It was more bat-fish than bat-frog. Maybe they had evolved due to mankind draining wetlands. I placed the sights between its nocturnal eyes, pulled the trigger, and then let out a shout.

            “Jack! _Jack!_ ”

            There was no reply save for the ear-splitting screams of the _Llamhigyn Y Dwr_. Perhaps he just hadn’t heard me. Then again perhaps he was pinned down. I slapped a new clip in and then stepped out into the night. Two dead leapers lay on the ground. Enid had said there were six. So, four more remained if the old blind woman’s counting was credible. I crept around the house, my back to the walls, ducking to avoid the poisonous barbs on the ends of a long tail. One hit the side of the house. I looked up, saw glistening green eyes, fired over my head twice and then side-stepped quickly. The dead monster hit the grass and crumpled. I moved on, around the corner, and found nothing but one dead leaper. Panic grabbed me by the throat.

            “ _Jack!_ ” I bellowed, ducking to avoid an incoming leaper. It banked sharply when the front door opened. A shaft of light flowed over me, blinding me temporarily.

            “I heard your man call for you. Sounded weak,” Enid shouted to be heard and then lifted a shotgun to her shoulder. I went down flat to the ground to avoid the blast. A leaper fell from the sky, landing several feet to my left with a crash. “Take this torch.” She tossed a flashlight out the door in my direction. “Go find him. You know what they do to their prey.”

            I did now that she had reminded me. Anything a leaper caught was taken into the water, fastened to the bottom, and allowed to rot for a week or so. Which explained why the wetlands surrounding this unfortunate town reeked to high hell.

            “If I don’t come back, get in contact with Torchwood in Cardiff,” I shouted, got to my feet, took the torch, and began looking for a sign. It didn’t take me long to find the drag marks in the soggy soil. Enid’s front door closed with a slam. I ran into the reeds, pushing my way through until I came to the edge of the land. Frogs and singing night insects were silent. The only sounds were my breathing and the gentle sounds of water moving back and forth over the reeds.

            “I’m coming, Jack,” I said, peeled off my socks and shoes, left them on the bank, and waded out into the muck. The moon was up now, throwing its white light on the fog that lay ominously an inch or so over the water’s surface. Gun in one hand, torch in the other, I walked. For hours, I waded through water and slick mud, calling out for Jack while knowing he would not reply. If a barbed tail had nicked him, he’d be an easy meal.

I was now up to my chest, the stench of rotted flesh bubbling up out of the mud my toes sank into. I called and called for him, falling, tripping on submerged trees, and sliding as I went, until the mud and the water went over my head. Fear overtook me and I instinctually swam to the surface. Treading water with one hand, I shoved my gun into my belt, looked up at the moon and then let myself sink. Down I went perhaps four meters or so. The torch’s beam lit up the murky water but just. Letting my heart slow, I simply did what I did on the bottom of Cardiff Bay. Held my breath. A droplet of water touched my tongue. This bog tasted much, much worse than Cardiff Bay.

            Small fish darted this way and that as I swam along, the torch held in my left hand which kept my right free. I swam for hours, coming up on occasion to pull in some air and get my bearings using the moon. It was on one of those moon checks that I saw it. A large raised bed in the middle of the endless acres of wetland. It might have been some sort of muskrat lodge had it not been for the eggs in a large nest.

            “Oh shit,” I whispered, spitting out a soggy leaf stuck to my lower lip. I swam closer to the raised nest. Where the mother had gone, I had no clue. Do leapers sit on eggs? My toes bumped something under the water. Something that felt solid and fleshy. I sank under the water, praying that I had found Jack.

Seeing him pinned to the rancid mud by a rotted log was horrifying. His one arm was floating freely. His eyes and mouth were open. The beam of the torch flickered and then died. I let it sink and swam to Jack. I grabbed his arm and began pulling. Getting traction was difficult, the mud at the bottom of the bog was slippery and foul. Finally, the log rolled just enough to free his legs. With him in a headlock I pushed to the surface. His head rolled. I shimmied up onto the nest, turned, and pulled Jack up out of the water. No easy task. The man was solid muscle.

            Kneeling on soft mud, twigs, and a few bones, I rolled him to his stomach and placed my hands on his back. I worked and worked on him, pushing the water out of his lungs the best I could. Then I gathered him up, tucking his head under my chin, his back resting on my chest. We sat there under the moon, waiting for him to come back. The moon was nearly gone when he revived. His body convulsed and he sucked in as much air as a man could.

            “Easy, easy, I have you,” I told him, wrapping him tightly in my arms. He gasped and coughed, his body working to clear the remaining water from his lungs. “I have you.”

            “Ianto? Oh shit, that never gets any less miserable.” He hacked and sputtered, his fingers digging into my arms. “My head feels like it was in a vice.”

            “That’s the aftereffects of the poison, I wager.” Hearing him breath was quite nice, as was hearing his voice.

            “Got any aspirin?” he asked around a violent cough.

            “Sorry, not a one.” I lowered my head to rest my cheek to his wet hair.

            “Don’t apologize. Thank you for finding me.” He sat up gingerly. “Are these what I think they are?” He lifted an egg the size of a melon out of the nest.

            “Eggs, yes. I think we should break them and then kill the mother – or father – when it comes back. They had you pinned by the nest. They must have thought you were a prime cut for the youngsters.” An owl sounded off in the distance. It was reassuring to have some sounds of nature back.

            “I’m honored.” He slammed the egg into the nest. It popped with a squicky, juicy sound. Twenty-five eggs in total were shattered with great malice. We shivered for another hour, keeping each other close for body heat. At dawn the leaper parent appeared looking more than a little angry. Jack killed it with pointed stick through the one bulbous eye when it dropped down out of the pinkish sky. A blackbird sounded off nearby. “Remember how I said I was dirty a few hours ago?”

            “You’re much dirtier now. Still as handsome, just dirtier. And smellier.”

            “Pot and kettle, Mr. Jones.” He slipped off the nest into the water. “Um, which way did you come?”

            “This way.” I took the lead. Perhaps it would do him good to follow me a time or two.

 

**To be continued…**

           


	9. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 9 - Confessions

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Nine**

**Confessions**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Time dragged, as did wading through this damn endless bog of eternal stench. I smiled a bit when the mental image of David Bowie in those tight pants in the film _Labyrinth_ appeared in my mind.

“When we get out of this muck we’re going to take hour long showers and watch some old movies,” I called to Ianto, who was wading along, water to his hips, about two feet ahead of me.

“That sounds good. Pity we have no means to do so here in scenic Wolcott on the Bog.”

“Maybe Enid has some old tapes and a VCR she’d let us borrow,” I said, my foot sliding out from me. After I resurfaced, I found my office boy standing on a pier, looking down as I flapped around like a beached salmon.

“You all right down there?” He peeled off his ruined vest and dropped it to the rickety pier.

“Just ducky,” I replied with some salt. I waded over to the pier. He dropped into a crouch and offered me his hand. I took it grudgingly. Once I had my feet on dry land – or mossy boards as the case may be – I removed my great coat and tossed it into the bog. “Rest in peace,” I whispered as the coat slowly sank. I gave the surrounding area a long examination. “There is literally nothing to see but water, reeds, and bugs.”

“That’s why it’s called a wetland, Jack.” I gave him a look. “Sorry, I’m all sorts of shady it seems. Lack of sleep looks bad on me.”

“Nothing looks bad on you.” I reached for him and he stepped closer. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle we fit perfectly. His lips were soft and warm, his chest hard, and his cheeks rough. God, I loved men. I also loved women. I have also been known to love aliens. Jack Harkness is all about the love. _No, Jack Harkness is all about the sex. He’s too scared to be about the love._ Ianto’s fingers moving with gentle affection along my neck startled me from my mental wanderings, or was it the chiding voice inside my head that did that? When I broke off the kiss unexpectedly, he searched my face for a reason. “Did you ever catch yourself in a lie?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” A small bird flew past behind him, brown and quick, catching bugs with grace and skill. It grabbed and held my attention for just a second or two. I stepped away from him and turned to look out of the bog.

“I know what you want from me and I just can’t give it to you.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” He asked. I had to at least give him an honest reply.

“I won’t. I can’t. It’s all the same.” I crossed my arms over my chest, the pressure pushing water out of the sodden cotton. Then I made the mistake of looking at him. I should have kept my sight on the birds skimming along the water’s surface. The man looked as if I had pushed a rapier through his midsection. “You need to focus on the future.”

“The future? _What_ future? The one where a Weevil rips out my throat? The one where I die old and alone because any man or woman I date will hate the hours and the secrecy of my job? The one where I can never father children because I now have alien DNA locked into my genes? Which bright future should I be fixating on, Jack?!” His pain was real and raw. “This _is_ all there is!” He threw his arms out and upward. “This, here, the smell of fresh air, the sight of the sun breaking through the fog, the calls of the grebes and the touch of your hand on my skin. This is all there is! There’s nothing else after this life. So why the _fuck_ should we not live for the moment? What else is there to live for, Jack? Why not love now, as fiercely as possible, and for as long as possible?”

Wow. For a man who claimed he wasn’t much of a talker he sure knew how to string words together well. And, he was right, of course. I knew he was. My heart knew he was as well. I needed to boot Ms. Cooper in the ass for telling the others about what lies on the other side. People needed hope that in the end they’d go somewhere better. I knew what was out there. I visited the fucking darkness monthly it seemed. Fucking Suzie Costello. She had taken so much from all of us. There were times I wanted to pull her icy corpse out of the freezer and kill her a few more times. I snapped back to the man who had saved me from being a snack for leaper larva.

“You’re right,” I confessed on a shaky exhalation. His eyes widened. “You were expecting a bigger fight, a longer one, maybe?”

“To be honest, yes.” I cupped his face in my hands, the stink rolling off us was so strong even the clouds of mosquitoes kept their distance. “I don’t need to hear you say it every day, Jack, but I do need to know how you feel.”

I stroked his cheek with my thumb, the feel of short stubble sending a shot of lust through me. Damn, but I did love the rasp of whiskers on flesh.

“If I never say it, will you leave me?” I enquired.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Good. You should you know.” I stared into his eyes. They were so blue and so trusting, brimming with emotion. “You should stop this relationship because it can only conclude in a few horrible ways. You’ll die on the job at a young age, as most Torchwood employees do, and that will end me. Or you’ll be one of the lucky ones who survives to his dotage and then you’ll die and that will end me. You see, either way I lose you.” I released his face so that he couldn’t feel how my hands were shaking.

“You’re scared.” He looked right into me and it was then I knew that he had finally found the well-hidden reason. “I am too. I’m terrified that you’ll get tired of me, or that you’ll watch me get wrinkles and lose my hair and toss me aside for a younger, hotter model, or that the Doctor will return and you’ll go off with him and I’ll never see you again. See, I’m living in fear too, Jack.”

“Oh, but Ianto, you’re so much braver than I am. You’re willing to take that leap of faith but I’m sick of taking that plunge. Of losing another person that I... care deeply about.”

He stepped into me, embraced me, burrowed his face into my neck and held me. I grasped at the wet shirt stuck to his strong back, fisted it, and held him to me.

“Together it’s far less frightening,” he mouthed against my throat.

I closed my eyes at his words. Moments passed. “Then we stay together,” I whispered and tried to get him closer. It was impossible, but I was going to try. Birds sang and the sun crept into the sky. I blinked away the wetness at the corners of my eyes. Ianto pressed a kiss to my filthy neck and the world seemed just a little less bleak.

“Are you two boys getting queer on the pier or are those snuffling noises a leaper? Speak up or die!”

Ianto and I leaped apart. I whirled around to see Enid in her housecoat, cradling a shotgun that was aimed at our heads.

“Whoa, whoa, lower the gun!” I shouted and raised my hands, palms out, to her. Ianto stepped behind me. I threw him a fast look. He shrugged and tried to look sheepish about using me as a human shield. “Enid, it was just us getting queer on the pier.”

“Ah, well, okay. You kill them all off then?” She lowered the shotgun. Ianto and I both sighed in relief.

“Got them all, ma’am,” Ianto spoke up from behind me. “Even the nest and the eggs.”

“They were breeding were they? Nasty things. Good. Come along then and I’ll make you some breakfast.” She turned and toddled off, her slippers flapping and her cane who the hell knows where. Ianto stepped up to stand beside me. “You can take my truck to town to call about your car,” she called over her frail shoulder.

“We seem to have missed our time at the B&B,” I said as I watched Enid push through a stand of reeds as tall as she was.

“Yes, I know. I’ll have to ring the rental agency and report the car, and then call the lodge and apologize for standing them up. I doubt they’ll refund my deposit on the room, and rightly so, but perhaps if I say it was an emergency?”

“Tell them we’ll need the room for a day or two.” I peeked over to the right. He was gaping. I really did love to see that look on his face. “I’d like to try out the frilly linens and no aliens/ Welsh monsters part of our agreement.”

“So would I,” he said, regaining his composure quickly. I liked that about him. “Shall we go take another bath before we leave?”

“I _do_ feel dirty.”

“I’ll lay out the accoutrements, Sir.”

He walked off, leaving me on the pier smiling like a flaming ass and wondering how the hell the word ‘accoutrements’ could sound so damn sexy.

 

**To be concluded...**


	10. Busman's Holiday - Chapter 10 - Dreams at Dawn

**Busman’s Holiday**

**Issue Ten**

**Dreams at Dawn**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

            The sheets under us were crisp and the room was posh. Thick curtains matched the lacy duvet, rich carpeting covered the floor. A fireplace had been banked low for the night by an incredibly accommodating staff, and the lilting call of morning birds waking up on the wetlands wafted in. Clean wetlands. Monster-free wetlands. Out of all this elite and beautiful refinement, my eyes rested on Jack’s bare back, for it, and he, were the most eye-pleasing things in this bed and breakfast. Perhaps in all Holyhead.

             A thin sliver of morning sun fell across the plane between his shoulder blades. He was sleeping and had been for at least four hours. Knowing how disjointed his rest usually was, the fact that he was resting so peacefully beside me filled me with contentment. I leaned over to drop a soft kiss to that wide expanse of warm, manly skin I had been admiring for the past forty minutes or so.

            Was it odd to watch a man sleep? Did that make me weird to study him and wonder who he dreamed of? I rolled closer to the slumbering man, suddenly intent on kissing each knob of his spine. My hand slithered under the covers to rest on his ass. He made a groggy sound as I tasted his back and massaged his buttock. I had to have more of him. It was a need akin to breathing.

            “And they say coffee is the best part of waking up,” Jack murmured into the pillows scattered around the huge bed. I grabbed his hip and rolled him to his back. His eyelids rested low on his eyes, his scruffy face still carried the embroidery marks from the fancy pillowcases, and his body thrummed with sexual energy. “I think I enjoy waking up to this _way_ more than I do a cup of joe.” He smiled.

            “I love your smile,” I whispered before covering his mouth with mine. He kissed me back with passion, his hand falling over mine. He wrapped my fingers around his cock. A shudder rippled through his body then mine. Our tongues tangled for several wild moments then I broke free to move lower. I tongued his flat nipples then lapped down to his navel. He spread his legs with a soft groan. I bit down on the skin covering his hip bone and grabbed his balls. Jack hissed in pleasure as his ass lifted from the luxurious sheets. I rolled his sac tenderly then took him deeply into my mouth.

            “Your mouth is a dream,” he groaned and pushed his fingers into my hair. I took my time, teasing the man to the edge a few times then stopping to return to his mouth or his chest or the tight skin along his ribs. Finally, he had reached his limit and rolled me to my back. I went willingly, eager to have him deep inside me. He never did enter me. Instead, he straddled my hips, spat into his right palm, and took both of our cocks in one hand. It felt as if my lungs couldn’t draw in enough air. “Look me in the eye when you come, Ianto. I want you to always remember that it’s me who does this for you.”

            “No other man,” I gasped as he began stroking us with slow, practiced movements. His gaze bored into mine. I ripped at the sheets and gave myself over to him. It took no time for him to have me writhing under him. He came first, but just barely so. I followed quickly, the sight of him reaching his pinnacle pushing me over the top of the summit. He released our cocks after I stopped calling out for him. Using both hands he smeared our semen into my chest, my gaze still on his.

             “Say it again,” he panted.

            “No other man,” I breathlessly repeated. He feasted on my mouth languidly before he slipped off me and left the bed. “Bloody hell,” I huffed as my body slowed. Jack chuckled lightly then disappeared into the bath. I lay amid the tangled sheets, content, mind drifting and touching on a thousand things. My eyes dropped shut.

            I felt him returning. The smell of soap was strong and I opened my eyes. He placed a hot washcloth on my chest then sat down beside me. I watched in silence as he cleaned the mess from my stomach, chest, and neck.

            “Jack,” I sluggishly called. His gaze lifted from my abdomen to my face. “Two things.” I held up my index finger. “One. You wear the rumpled, just-shagged look very well.” Those dimples appeared again. I then raised my middle finger to rest next to my index finger. “And two. Why did the people of Walcott on the Bog never ask for help with the leapers?”

            The washcloth stalled by my left hip. He tipped his head and studied me intently for a long moment.

            “Is that what you ponder on when I’m sleeping?” The song of a warbler entered through the cracked window over the bed.

            “It’s just a sticky sort of bother to my mind. Why, when all the people began to go missing, did no one from Walcott on the Bog call for help? Local constabulary should have come out to at least work on all the missing person’s reports.” Jack continued to stare at me. The look on his face was hard to read. His big hand rested on my hip, the washcloth leaking a slim trail of soapy water that the fitted sheet was absorbing.

            “Do you want to dig deeper into things back there?”

            I sat up. His hand stayed on my hip. “Yes, well, I think _someone_ from the team should at least go back and make some inquiries, don’t you?”

            “I do. So, I’m giving you permission to open up an investigation into the mystery of Wolcott on the Bog.” He leaned in a few inches to kiss my open mouth. “You look stunned.”

             “I am.” His smile and the pressure of his hand on my hip made focusing hard but I held onto the moment because it was too big to let lust cloud it up. “I have to ask. Is your decision to allow me to step into the field because I’m an exemplary agent or is it because I’m an exemplary fuck?”

              “It’s because you’ve worked your ass off to earn the right to do more than make coffee and gather trash,” he stated factually. I nodded in thanks. “Now, as to our itinerary for the day. We can either take the guided tour to the northern banks to spend the day jotting down the various bird species we’ve found, _or_ , we can pick up a new rental and go visit Enid. The choice is yours.”

             I mulled those options for a second or two. “You’ve seen one bird you’ve seen them all.”

             “That’s my man,” Jack grinned then shoved me back into the bed. My back sank into the fat mattress. “We’ll leave in an hour or so,” he purred like a hungry puma while pressing me deeper into the bedding, his weight on my chest welcome and wanted.

             “I have my stopwatch, in case you’re interested in adding to the list.”

              One of his expressive eyebrows danced up his smooth brow. “Why yes, I think adding to the list is a fine idea, Agent Jones.”

              “I thought you might agree, Sir.”

 

**The End**

 

“Secret Agent Man”, a new solo tale for Ianto, will start shortly! Thank you for reading along.

 

Yours in fiction,

 

Feral


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